


With weary wings I write.

by Jim_Moriarty_xxx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Colors, Fluff, I Tried, I've never written fandom before, Imagery, M/M, Safe For Work, Sweetness, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Touch centered, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, enjoy?, feeling, i did imagery, romance I think, smol beans, yes - Freeform, you'll understand if you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jim_Moriarty_xxx/pseuds/Jim_Moriarty_xxx
Summary: I used this prompt."Person A works in a flower shop. Person B works in the tattoo shop next door and does all of Person A’s tattoos. (Bonus if person B has 0 tattoos and is a cinnamon roll type character.)"





	With weary wings I write.

With weary wings I write. 

My eyes flicker, I trace lines and shapes across my next canvas, my fingers imagining the grooves to come. Ink escapes from my pen to a waiting shoulder blade. Onto the skin covering the right scapula. Each drawing, whether it comes from my own books or from the piece themselves, they all tell a story. 

This one, this one is a splay of honeycombs, covering the shoulder in the mathematical shapes of nature. This canvas is called Dean. 

I hear Dean as he strolls into my shop, all with such familiarity. As if it’s his own store. His boots make dull thuds across my worn floorboards. My fingers trace lines, they trace shapes I am soon to draw. 

Dean brings me zinnias, he brings me vases and bouquets from his store as part of his payment.

I never asked him to, but I won’t disagree from their lovely thoughts and splashing colors.

We’re past formalities by now. 

I like to draw him, paint him in swirls of colors and hues that match him.  
That match his eyes and soul. Candied greens and streaks of yellows, with sweeping strokes of blue.

Dean, he asks about me. He decidedly likes to talk. I tell him about my day, about my brother Gabriel, about myself. I tell him my thoughts of how things are, about how colors compose people, and how I certainly am lavender, I am pale yellows and sky blue. I can’t put a name to this, but it is there. 

I hand him my drawings, my ideas to the next art to cover his body, the sketches I’ve done of his face, his eyes, all in his fantastic colors. 

The honeycombs are done for today. The next session will be in a few day’s time. 

After closing, we walk one door down to his shop. Dean’s Desert Roses. A cold wind strikes the air as I shield my eyes from it. I draw my sweater closer and Dean’s hand leads me in through the door. 

Sweet scents abruptly contrast the dampness outside. My eyes flicker all about catching the pinks and blues and yellow shades. 

The petals are soft and Dean brings me one more bloom to see.  
Soft purples and greens, tiny lavender florets at different stages of opening. 

He starts delving into the language of flowers, lavender means serenity, and calmness. I watch his lips as he forms each word, each Latin name, each definition and etymological phrase. 

I trace stars onto his fingers, humming the notes to a song played on repeat during long nights.  
I smile, and look up as Dean trails off his sentence between the differences of two particular plants in some foreign plant family. 

He starts to change topics, bringing everything else to life. 

He tells me of bells ringing, the clambering sound of anxious hands reaching for warm clothes, for buzzing lights flickering  
and I tell him of the feeling of paint,  
of having thick colors spread over each palm and to create the swirls, the curves over walls and doors. Having it drip down onto the floor to be stepped on by bare feet, to never be fully washed away from the tile. 

Dean smiles, his hand placing a flower over my ear.

I step around the counter to meet Dean. His hands wrap around my sides and I close the distance between us. 

He smells like honey and aftershave, I bring my face to his. 

We kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a fanfic, and I really tried this time. My main regret is I couldn't fit Cas's name in here, but I couldn't find a spot. This is how I write. Please leave a comment with your thoughts of how this went! I'm very nervous about posting this.


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